


Magnus Burnsides Adopts You, Personally

by Newt



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: F/M, Gen, IDK what else to tell you, cw for themes of abuse and self harm and mental illness, this is mostly about magnus and not manus/julia, this is part vent part character study, time to remind you that you deserve so much love, well gang the holiday season is wrapping up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 15:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13274136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newt/pseuds/Newt
Summary: Magnus Burnsides has lost many families over the years.Good thing you're in the market for a new one.





	Magnus Burnsides Adopts You, Personally

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, is this ever a vent piece.  
> CW for themes of parental abuse, self harm, and mental illness. I can’t guarantee that this is going to be super accurate or healing or any such thing, as I’m not a therapist and I can only vouch for my own experiences and those of the people close to me. If anything about this fic upsets you, PLEASE stop reading, and look after yourself. I’m doing this for my own feelings, and it’s pretty much equal parts vent and Magnus character study.  
> Anyway, this is dedicated to my sweet baby cousin who didn’t in any way deserve the shit our family gave him on New Years. He doesn’t know what The Adventure Zone is, and will never read this. But maybe you will, and you will remember that Magnus and all of the TAZ crew loves you, and that there is such a thing as a happy, healthy, McElroy-style family. *Griffin Mcelroy electronic resume image* I love you.

They’re fighting again.

 

You slip out the door, and away, just like you always do. You hate the fighting. It makes them scary and it makes them forget about you. Sometimes you cry. Sometimes, you feel like the fighting is your fault.

 

There are pictures of a happy family on the walls of your house. As time goes on, you feel more and more like you don’t know who those people are.

 

You are eight years old, and you slip out the door.

 

Not many people live in Ravensroost. You don’t know why, you just know that there are pretty much no kids for you to play with. Your parents hardly ever want to play with you anymore, either. The loneliness hurts your heart, so you make up your own friends. You walk along with them, humming a tune that keeps the monsters away.

 

A monster comes anyway.

 

You’ve wandered into darkness again, and as soon as you realize it’s nighttime, your friends fade away. Your heart beats fast as your arms try to reach for a comfort that just isn’t there.

 

You turn, and you see it.

 

A giant beetle blocks your path, jaws snapping, enormous eyes locking in on you. Your mouth opens, but you can’t even scream as you fall backward, terror gripping your stomach and limbs and throat. The thing rears up, and it glows with what must be fire. You can do nothing but shut your eyes, and wait for the killing blow.

 

But it doesn’t come. And it doesn’t come. You hear a snarling noise as your vision comes back into focus. You jump as someone speaks, to your left.

 

“Hey, are you okay?”

 

You open your eyes to see two enormous dogs, snarling and scrapping with the beetle. The thing is backing down, hurt, as they claw at it. A whimper escapes your lips. The voice pipes up again.

 

“Euuuh… maybe don’t look at that. Look over here, hm?”

 

You twist around, towards the biggest man you have ever seen. Bushy sideburns. Kind eyes. The hint of a smile.

 

“There you go! Don’t worry about that little bug. My dogs’ve got this.”

 

You wrap your arms around your legs, still mostly frozen from shock. You can only listen as the snarling calms down, the scuttling of limbs is silenced. You keep your vision focused on the axe strapped to the belt of the man who kneels beside you.

 

You sit in the silence for a few minutes. He doesn’t leave you.

 

“Where do you live?” he asks, softly. “Is it okay if I help you up?”

 

You don’t respond. You don’t remember how.

 

You feel hot breath on the back of your neck, and gasp again, covering your head with your arms.

 

“Hey, Noelle, bad! Our new friend doesn’t want to pet you yet.”

 

The feeling goes away. You take a few breaths. Something huge and hairy comes up beside the man. _Noelle_ , you think.

 

“Or… maybe they do? What do you think, new friend? You can pet her if you want. I promise she’s a big softie.”

 

A few beats, and then you nod. You like dogs.

 

Before the man even says anything, the dog comes up beside you, and sits directly on your lap. You have to bend back a bit to accommodate her huge, furry form. She’s warm, and pants heartily. The movement calms you, enough to talk.

 

You learn the man’s name is Magnus. He teaches at a sort of school, for people and for dogs. He wants to take you home to your parents. When you tell him that they probably haven’t even noticed you’re gone, he wrinkles his brow.

 

He takes you over to his house, a small and cozy place that smells of fresh cut wood. A small fire heats the room as he sits you down at a carved table, puts a hot chocolate in your hands, surrounds you with dogs, and leaves to find your parents. You think once, years ago, you might have learned something about stranger danger. But your brain isn’t working too good after that bug attack.

 

You wake up the next morning, curled up on the floor and surrounded by warm, sleeping dogs. Someone threw a blanket on you, at some point. Magnus sits in a nearby chair, carving something.

 

He speaks to you softly, saying he visited your house, and your parents were asleep. They wouldn’t wake up for you, he says, over and over. He seems angry, and your stomach churns as you bury your face in the closest dog. You don’t like it when people are angry.

 

He calms down, and makes you breakfast.

 

You do go home eventually, but you find yourself slipping out the door and to Magnus’ house more and more when your parents start to fight. Sometimes, they don’t even start fighting at all, and you just go to visit Magnus for fun. He feeds you well. He teaches you how to hold an axe. He reads books with you and asks your opinion on his latest projects and always, always, greets you with a huge goofy grin.

 

You never see him talk to your parents, but you know that they know him. They get angry, when they talk about him. One day, you are forced to choose. And you choose him.

 

He greets you with a goofy grin and a fully furnished bedroom. The paperwork goes through. He sits with you and rubs your back while you cry. From then on, he’s always there when you cry. Sometimes, he cries with you.

 

On happy days, you laugh. And he laughs with you. He doesn’t always know how to react to your feelings, but he always laughs in all the right places.

 

You are thirteen, and coming back from a summer spent on tour with Merle Highchurch’s adventuring lessons. It was either this or summer school, and this seemed like a lot more fun.

 

On the last day, Merle catches you panic-crying in the basement of his main school building.

 

Most of the other kids have gone home at this point. You know that you won’t be welcome at home, not unless you can prove that you’ve learned something super valuable this summer. Your mind rushes through the things that you’ve learned. Archery, but only with training bows. Navigation, but you never would have made it on your own. Hand-to-hand combat, but only the second best in the class. _Not good enough, not good enough, not good enough._

You should have just stuck with summer school. At least you can force yourself to do well in reading and math, even though it takes hours of anxious studying, late into the night, palms slick with sweat, brain humming, eyes prickling with tears.

 

Merle has someone he wants you to meet.

 

Magnus was originally just in town to visit Merle, but he ends up talking to you mostly. You like him instantly. He listens to you as you explain the things you did this summer, asks you to keep talking when you cut stories short because you think you’re boring him. You dare to tell him about getting lost during navigation training. He laughs.

 

“At least you were in a forest! Try a desert, sometime. I almost died like that once.”

 

He talks to your parents when they arrive. You go home with his address and a promise to keep in touch. As the year wears on, your brain gets worse. Fuzzier, busier, and you cry a lot. You are fourteen when Magnus comes to get you, for a summer away from the craziness. Your parents scoff, but Magnus’ reputation as a world-saving hero precedes him. They concede.

 

A summer turns into several months. Unofficially, you live with him now. You spend every day learning what you want to learn, and hanging out with other kids, and _living._

And when you mess up, and your body seizes up a bit, and you flinch, Magnus just brushes off the mistakes. Mistakes are a good thing, he says, and he laughs, when the timing is right. He hugs you when he thinks you need it.

 

“Look how good you failed, today!” and he laughs.

 

And you laugh too.

 

You are fifteen, and you run into him in the market. You have a merciful day with friends, a rarity in the best of times. You recognize him instantly, the famous Magnus Burnsides, and your friends shyly ask for autographs, giggling the whole time. One of your friends knows the kid he’s there with, one of his students or maybe a ward. You don’t know the kid, and you don’t know Magnus. You hover near the back of the pack, until he addresses you directly.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

Once you tell him, he uses your name a lot. The attention is almost too much, but it’s just so weirdly positive. He wants to know all about you and your friends. How you’re enjoying Ravensroost. If you bought anything cool at the market. You’re at a jewellery stall, and you all try stuff on.

 

“This one’s pretty cool, huh?” he asks, handing you a bracelet.

 

You nod, taking it from him without putting it on. Something like sadness flashes across his face, and you know he knows.

 

You want to burst into the usual spiels. The black eye and the split lip. The long sleeves, even in the heat of summer. You’re clumsy, you say. And cold-blooded. But you know he knows.

 

He takes you all for some cold drinks, at the request of the kid with him. Your friends cluster together and chatter in the hot sun, as you sweat away, sipping an iced tea off to the side. He stands close to you, patiently.

 

“Good stuff, right?” he says, gesturing to your drink with a lopsided smile.

 

“Yeah. Um, thank you very much.”

 

You raise the drink to your lips, and your right sleeve falls down. Your arm is revealed to the hot day, and you don’t know if it was carelessness or some secret, hated desire for attention. You crumble inside. What is it with you, and always wanting attention?

 

Magnus says nothing, and you assume he’s moved on. He still stands by you, though, and when you look up from your sip, you notice with a jolt that there are tears rolling down his cheeks.

 

You don’t even know what to say. You hate yourself, for making him cry. You slink back into your group of friends, heart pounding with something like fear or hatred or hope.

 

Later on, as his ward bids your friend goodbye, Magnus slips a business card into your hand. A joint school for people and dogs.

 

“You seem like someone who’s good with dogs,” he tells you. “I’ve been looking for some extra hands, if you’re interested.”

 

You’ve always liked dogs.

 

Within the year, you find yourself spending most of your days under his roof. He never touches you without asking, but you learn that his hugs are pretty much the warmest hugs in all of Faerun. He is always there to cry with you when you need him, and he slinks away when he sees you trying to keep it to yourself. This is when he sends a dog in, usually.

 

Sometimes, you hurt yourself. It’s an occupational hazard, really, what with all the tools and stuff around.

 

Sometimes, the hurt happens even when the tools are far away. It’s part of what you’re still healing from, and it takes time. And it takes patience. And you’re going to do it, you really are.

 

He wraps your wounds, and he cries with you, and he laughs with you in all the right places. He gets you help when you need it. Open wounds fade to scars, with time.

 

You are sixteen, and you are signed up for the Hammer and Tails school of self-defense. It’s a three-month program that teaches you how to fight.

 

You know that they’re going to make fun of you for this. You, who is always too ugly or too dumb or too slow. The idea that you could be trying to better yourself is a joke, one that even you can’t buy into. There’s nothing good in you left to better.

 

They never say it outright. If you mention bad things about yourself, they get so upset, saying they feel the same way about themselves, or they’ve tried so hard to give you everything, or they just don’t know where it’s all coming from. But yet with every extra helping of dinner, or unflattering clothing option, or mediocre test score, or improper way of speaking or acting or feeling, you get a small hint of something that chips away at the core of your being.

 

At the Hammer and Tails, you build a home.

 

The other students are always so supportive, even as you fall behind in lessons, or gasp for breath during warm-up, or fall flat on your back in yet another sparring session. Your face burns hot with shame, but they are always there to lift you up again.

 

You stay late wherever you can, and Magnus himself always swings by to chat with you all. He serves snacks, and tells incredible stories, and listens attentively, and laughs in all the right places. After a few weeks, he starts to casually rebuke your usual jokes.

 

“Haha, and then I just fell over, because I can’t even stand I guess?”

 

“I think you stand really great! You’re the best stand-er!”

 

And you awkwardly change the subject, and you move on. You gradually shift from annoyance at his weird responses to your self-deprecating jokes, to the acceptance that you’re going to have to change your way of speaking around him.

 

“I fell over today, because, s _omeone_ felt like pushing me,” you say, nudging your friend.

 

“I fell over, but then lunch was great, so a good day overall,” you say, and the table laughs.

 

“I fell over, but I still won the match!”

 

“All right!” Magnus high-fives you, and it almost breaks your entire hand. You’ve never met someone so terrible at knowing their own strength.

 

Magnus has a bunch of wards, by now, his own band of misfit adoptees that found their way to him through whatever means. Your thing is more subtle, and you feel guilty for even thinking you could in any way amount to the suffering his kids have gone through.

 

But something about your time in this class empowers you, and something about the way you feel here makes your time at home more and more unbearable. You ask Magnus if he’s looking for permanent help. He agrees enthusiastically.

 

With time, you learn that it is okay to take up space. Just because other people are hurting doesn’t mean that you can’t hurt also. You need a little help, and when people love you, they’re willing to give it. You learn to help them as well. And you grow.

 

When you’re nineteen, you decide it’s time to get out.

 

Nineteen years of sobbing yourself to sleep, of treading lightly in your own home, of shutting down and spiralling into darkness as the outside world screams. You are so sick of getting yelled at. You are so sick of the unpredictability in your life. But you made it.

 

You’ve worked your ass off for the money. Now, you just need a place to stay.

 

Magnus Burnsides opens the doors of the Hammer and Tails to you without question. One of his wards has grown up and moved away, and he says the house is too quiet now. You wade your way to your new room through a pool of about fifty dogs, and think that you’ve maybe never been somewhere less quiet in your entire life.

 

On your third day there, you break a dish, and the world crashes down around you. Your pulse races as you prepare for the onslaught, but it never comes. Magnus rushes into the room with a broom, telling you not to move so you don’t hurt yourself. You help him clean it up, apologizing over and over as he waves your words away.

 

“I just don’t want you to get hurt, is all.”

 

Your panic fades. You start to come home and talk to Magnus about your day, and he laughs in all the right places. Even when you get something wrong, and your body slips into fight or flight, Magnus assures you it’s alright, and helps you through. You eat dinner with everyone else, help care for the dogs, and, after a month of living here, Magnus refuses your rent. It’s annoying, almost, and you double down on household chores. With time, your strength learns to fight your fear.

 

“This is ridiculous, Magnus,” you say, with a laugh-tremor. You take a sip of your drink, avoiding his serious eyes.

 

“Your FACE is ridiculous, I’m adopting you, kid.”

 

He presses a fist into the table for emphasis. If you’d known this was what this lunchtime chat would evolve into, you maybe would have reconsidered. But somewhere, deep down, you feel something warm taking shape.

 

You are the proud owner the worst-behaved dog in all of New Phandolin. Your neighbours have begged you to get some help with training him for months now. You had no success in Phandolin, and you were forced to call in the big guns. After a week at the Hammer and Tails, Mugsy dozes by your side in the coffee shop, docile as can be.

 

You took Magnus out to lunch as a thank you. Lunch chatter evolved into some sort of accidental tragic backstory retelling. And now this.

 

“You can’t _adopt_ me,” you say. “I’m twenty-three. I don’t even live with my parents anymore. This is… things are fine.”

 

“That story you told me sucked,” says Magnus, still not convinced. “No one should have to deal with family like that.”

 

Heat rises in your cheeks. You go to take a sip of your drink, but your cup is basically empty.

 

“It’s not like that all the time,” you say. “The thing is, I know they love me. My parents love me, and they work hard, and they have their own issues that they’re dealing with. I was caught up in some of that, and I guess that kind of sucks, but we’re mostly good now. It’s only sometimes.”

 

“Then I’ll only adopt you sometimes,” says Magnus, with a shrug. “Just when things are shitty.”

 

And you can’t help but laugh, at this huge man with the huge heart, who not only wants to listen to your problems, but take them on so fully as to make them his own. To invite you into his family, after knowing you for so little time.

 

It’s true that the Burnsides clan is enormous. You’ve spent your time at the Hammer and Tails with no less than six kids of varying ages, each with their own story to tell. It makes you feel even more guilty for dumping your own minor issues on Magnus.

 

“They’re not shitty that much, they…”

 

“But they _are_ shitty sometimes!” says Magnus, staring you down with a fighter’s intensity.

 

“Ah, yeah, but…” you can’t help but look away. “But it’s okay. Everyone goes through this.”

 

“I’m not sure everyone does,” says Magnus, softening his gaze. “And even if they do… that’s okay. You’re allowed to be sad, and you’re allowed to complain, and you’re allowed to be my kid whenever you want.”

 

“I’m _twenty-three_ ,” you repeat. “You’re not old enough for a twenty-three year old kid.”

 

“I have an old soul!” Magnus half-whines, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m at least a hundred and something, and that’s gotta count.”

 

You snort. It turns into a laugh. His eyes are just so hopeful.

 

“At least come by for lunch again,” he says.

 

And you agree.

 

Magnus Burnsides has lost a lot of family in his long, confusing life.

 

There’s the one that raised him, his blood and his heart, who kissed his wounds better and begged him to behave and taught him reading and writing and speaking and sitting up. He can remember his mother singing to him, holding him close as he fell asleep. He can remember his father bursting with laughter as he tried to teach Magnus to whistle on a blade of grass. He remembers the day his grandfather gave him his knife, as Magnus rolled in with a black eye, and he made him promise to never, ever tell his mom and dad about the gift he was about to give him.

 

He remembers watching them consumed, swallowed by inky darkness and swirls of colour and silence. He remembers waking up the next day, in a strange new world, and speaking to animals, and forcing himself to move on, full steam ahead. It was all he’d ever been good at.

 

Caught in this hundred-year cycle, Magnus made so, so, many friends. He met people of all walks of life, and couldn’t help but pour his entire soul into making their lives better, making them smile with him. Sometimes, these people would become like a family. And then they, too, would be swallowed by the hunger that followed the tiny crew through their endless journey. Over time, Magnus felt his heart grow thick with scar tissue. He had to force himself to carry on, to keep caring, even as his crewmates withdrew from the people and worlds outside their ship. As Magnus fought to connect with each world, to meet people and capture their stories, their hearts, it was their smiles he held on to, and their laughter that made it all worth it.

 

And then there was the Starblaster crew themselves. Davenport, who always seemed a little confused by Magnus’ choices, but supported him anyway. Merle, who joked and laughed and ribbed Magnus daily. Magnus would go exploring with Lup and learn science he’d immediately forget with Barry. He’d practice cool handshakes with Taako and spend hours in happy silence with Lucretia as she wrote in her journals. He spent every day drinking in the company of these people who were his only constant in the years of disaster, the only people who understood what he was going through.

 

And then, one day, it was taken from him. He didn’t even know it, but it was. Looking back on it now, he was sad. But it was the kind of sadness that was brushed by acceptance, a feeling that fate had designed everything this way.

 

Because what followed this were the happiest years of his life.

 

Magnus’ home in Ravensroost was the warmest, coziest, most wonderful home he ever could have ever imagined. He worked for a man he viewed as a father, doing a job he loved, and grew close with all of their customers. They’d ask about his day, and he’d ask about theirs. They’d laugh together over drinks and hearths and wood shavings.

 

And then, there was Julia.

 

The home Magnus found in her was… yeah, it was perfect.

 

To find someone who gets you so completely is something so special that Magnus still spends every day marveling at his luck. He and Julia would spend hours just talking about ridiculous things, making up stupid stuff before rapidly switching to the serious. They planned a rebellion together, and he fought by the side of the bravest person he’d ever known, had ever had the privilege of loving. She was beautiful, and bright, and he got to fall asleep to her voice every night, his own voice heavy with all he shared with her, and wake up to her peaceful face every morning, before holding her, wordlessly, for as long as he wanted. He had never loved someone so much.

 

And he had never felt pain like the pain of losing her.

 

The worst years of his life immediately followed the best, until he got his older family back again. The Starblaster crew handily saved his life, and he learned to live happily with the time he had left.

 

Magnus has known many families over the years.

 

Now, he chooses to build his own.

 

Magnus has always loved people, almost as much as he loves dogs. He meets a lot of people, doing what he does, and being who he is. He is a legend, he is a hero, and he is a protector. So he does what he does best, and he protects those who need protecting. His house is much too big, and his heart is probably too big also.

 

People just fall into his care, from babies to adults, and he loves them all the same. Some stay for weeks, some for months, some for an entire childhood. The ones who stay longest hold special places in his heart, but he makes space for all of them. About a hundred people have shared his home by the time he is eighty years old. He stops looking and, eventually, he finds himself happy with a quiet life on his own. People visit him every day, friends of all ages and relations and times. His favourites are his family, from the Starblaster or the Bureau or his adoption efforts. His kids visit him, and he grows old.

 

He tells none of his kids that he is dying.

 

It’s the only cowardly thing he has ever done.

 

When Magnus accepts his final adventure, in the arms of his wife once more, he tells her all about them. She laughs in all the right places.


End file.
